


Remedy

by LKChoi



Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of abuse, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, minkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LKChoi/pseuds/LKChoi
Summary: Key is having difficulty recovering from an abusive relationship when he meets Minho through a mutual friend. A friendship forms between the two, but soon, intimate feelings begin to bloom in their hearts. However, Kibum's paranoid keeps them teetering on the edge between friends and lovers. Will Minho help Key heal the wounds of his damaged heart? Or will Key succumb to the pain the scars have left behind?





	1. CH 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taender_kisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taender_kisses/gifts).



> Colorful_World' Shinee Fanfic Fest.Round 3  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/12334242

Weak droplets of water dripped in slow procession into the sink. Outside the bathroom door, glasses clinked together as drinks were shared. Porcelain rattled on tin trays as fresh food was delivered to the chatting guests. Key’s heart thudded in his chest, breath erratic and hands quivering as he tried focusing only on the tiny repetitive noise. Away from his anxiety. Away from his fear. Away from his memories.

_. . ._

_But the shadow was already pursuing him, and he could hear his own desperate voice pleading with the man backing him into an empty stall. Did he smile too much? Did he say something that impressed someone in the wrong way? Was he being too frivolous with his attention and time? Anything could drive the rage behind that man’s eyes, that cornered him like a mouse, and made that shaky fist raise threateningly._

_“Hyeong-seop, I didn’t mean…No!”_

. . .

Key reached for the faucet and increased the pressure, the drips turning into a cool aggressive rush of water, the hush drowning out the majority of noises from outside and in his head. He coughed. Once. Twice. The next moment he was clutching the sink, staring helplessly through watery eyes at the black and white checkered floor as his body tremored with his fit. He wanted to laugh at himself for falling apart so easily, but the only sound that left him was his own voice breaking as he gasped for air.

Coming here was a bad idea, even if Jonghyun had guaranteed him _a lovely evening with an amazing guy._ Taking the chance on a random date wasn’t worth the flashbacks, or the vice-like grip of pain around his heart that came with it.

…

“You have to get out again,” his friend advised, the ice in his glass settling with a clack as he sat his emptied drink down on the waxed pine bar top.       

Jonghyun was a man whose pure talent got him where he was today. Opening a quaint little jazz bar was a long-time dream. A place he envisioned would create a warm cozy home feeling, where people could check their worries at the door and simply enjoy some great alcohol and music.

The dream was realized when his good friend Jinki inherited the spot, not knowing what to do with the very accessible yet secluded location. Together they decided the décor and layout, but in the end all Jonghyun wanted to do was play the songs he wrote. Thanks to Jinki’s intuition, Jonghyun’s music, and word of mouth, their diamond in the rough bar, _Neon,_ became the talk of the town.  

On a particularly bad night, when he didn’t feel safe returning to his own apartment, Key wondered downtown. That’s when he found the spot, lured in by the sound of a sensual neo-soul tune. His interest was piqued by the handsome entertainer holding an acoustic guitar with a voice as smooth as butter.

They had their fun as lovers for the night, but even more fun as friends in the following weeks with no harsh feelings. Jonghyun was a breath of fresh air compared to the usual snobs he met, and he found himself coming back on a weekly basis. Being in a place that felt like home. Spending time with a person who felt human. They were very few moments that reminded him that he might actually deserve some form of happiness.   

Jonghyun watched him stare into his whiskey. The lights behind the bar pierced the liquid and reflected in his eyes, both shimmering pools of brown. He’d seen that listless expression one too many times. It was a look that meant Key was beating himself up again, telling himself the pain he endured was what he deserved.

All sorts of people came to _Neon_ , with so many stories to tell. Jonghyun learned from them, wrote about them, and used them to help whenever he could. So, he knew a victim when he saw one, and what it looked like when they cast blame on themselves. He also knew a sincere soul when he met one, and he knew that as long as he allowed his friend to wallow in misery he would never see it himself.    

“Kibum-ah, please,” Jonghyun implored him.

Key responded to his name, finally looking his way. Only few knew his real name, and even fewer said it like they meant to connect with the man behind it. Jonghyun’s eyes were pleading, and he knew it meant he would go on until he responded properly.

“Jjong,” Key pressed, exasperated. “I don’t think I can. I don’t…” He peered into his liquor again, ducking his head a little lower, his chin almost resting on his chest. “I don’t want to ruin someone else.”

“But you didn’t!” Jonghyun shouted, gripping his shoulder, causing some guests to quickly glance in their direction, deciding to ignore them a moment later when he lowered his voice to speak again. “That wasn’t your fault. That guy was….”

The veins in his arm bulged as his grip on Key’s shoulder tightened. When he felt his anger build he released him and took a deep breath. He picked up his glass and let a single ice cube ease its way down his throat, the chill bringing him back down to his usually leveled self. He once again turned to speak, but this time gently turned Key around on his bar stool so they would face each other.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t watch you do this to yourself any more. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Kibum nodded to acknowledge the mutual sentiment. Jonghyun was undoubtedly his best friend. He was too much of a good person to ignore his pain, and too much of an empath not to feel it as if it was his own. The pharmaceutical commercials always tell you that depression hurts more than you. Well, Kim Jonghyun was living proof of that.

 “Yea,” Key surrendered with a weak smile. “We are. I trust you. I’ll…give it a shot.”

…

It had been half a year since he came into a place like this for anything other than quick business. A restaurant that looked like a five-star hotel, with pristine dishes that gleamed white under crystal chandeliers. Waiters dressed like penguins with their crisp white blouses and long black tailcoats, serving patrons who themselves shined brighter than those shimmering crystals above.

Key felt surrounded by haughty laughter and honeyed words, from people who would no sooner help you cross the street than watch you get hit by a car. By hollow ghosts that called themselves people, who would sap the life from you in a split second if your money was right, ignoring your anguish as they did so.

That’s how Key met _him,_ and for once in the cesspool of leeches thought he felt something real with someone. Someone who reminded him of being a hopeful teenager with simple dreams back in Daegu. Unfortunately, it was all a façade, which he failed to see through up until the first time he was beaten.

Now, here he was, having a panic attack in the men’s room while others came and went, gawking at him like he was a madman. All the while standing up his date. He couldn’t care, at least not while he was stuck stooping down and holding himself like a crying child. A pathetic reflection of his former self.

_I should have never come._

The door of the restroom creaked open and closed again. He heard two quick squeaky steps of polished shoes on tile before they stopped abruptly. He expected, (and preferred), that whoever came in would simply do his business and leave him alone. He wasn’t expecting the steps to then proceed with caution and approach him, or to see the tips of black leather shoes stop just inches next to him. He didn’t expect the sound of a fruity voice speak to him with all the comfort, pleasantness and familiarity of an old friend.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Obviously not.”

Key couldn’t help the snarky reply, sarcasm being his first line of defense when caught off guard. His tone lacked its usual bite, his breath still labored from trying to (and failing horribly at) calming his own nerves.

“Well, no one having an anxiety attack would be,” the man responded matter-of-factly, reaching forward to turn off the water before it could completely flood the sink.

“How did you- “

Kibum’s eyes snapped up at the man and his words were lost on his tongue. The stranger glanced down at him, concerned, his eyebrows knit together in worry yet his smile warm. He was the first person who had stopped the entire time, the only one who gave a damn. But Key did not return one, which made the man frown slightly. Key’s lips flattened and he turned away, locking his knees together tighter in his arms.

“Never mind,” he muttered coldly. “I’m fine.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Kibum wished he would just leave. However, there was a bit of comfort in having a presence other than his past phantom. Still, it was odd, feeling the man’s eyes burning into his scalp, especially while he was in such a state.

“So, what’s your deal anyway?” he grumbled. “You just, go around diagnosing people in bathrooms?”

“I have an older sister with very bad anxiety,” the stranger explained as he slowly crouched down beside him. He watched him carefully and said nothing. “She hunches down in the fetal position, too, on particularly bad days.”

That explained his careful and practiced approach. It explained his calm demeanor.

“Also,” he added curtly. “Some other guys were talking about it so…”

Key rolled his eyes and glanced back down at the floor. No surprise there. Gossip and mockery came easily to those kind of people, but being human enough to help? Too much trouble. Unless you were heaven-sent like the kind stranger beside him.

Key quickly realized that this was a normal train of thought for him, and that it meant his mind was no longer racing. He was calm now, and perhaps he’d been the moment the stranger first spoke, a sweet voice cutting through the thick clouds.

Key tensed when he suddenly felt a firm hand on his back, and the man stilled himself.

“I’m sorry for being so forward,” he apologized. “This always helps my noona so- “

“No.” Key interrupted quickly. “Please, go ahead.”

His hand moved again, gently in slow clockwise circles. The silk of Key’s black blouse glided against his skin, the combination of static and warmth causing his body to relax in the touch.

“Take a deep breath, in through your nose, and out through your mouth.”

Key followed the instructions, drawing his chest in as he inhaled and letting his back slump as he exhaled. He repeated the action twice. It was soothing just to breathe evenly with a comforting hand on his back. When the man felt Key’s tension leave, he removed his hand. After a few more breaths, Key glanced at him again, his expression softer this time.

“So,” He smiled finally. “Does my therapist have a name?”

The man chuckled and stood up, offering his hand.

“My name is Minho, Choi Minho.”

“Ah.”

Key recalled the name, now feeling embarrassed and guilty to be face to face with his botched date.

Hesitantly, he took Minho’s hand and relied on his strength to pull himself up. He was shaky on his feet, his legs aching from being stuck in a crouched position for far too long. He cursed at himself inwardly, and straightened through the pain in attempt to recover whatever pride he had left.

This man, smiling like an idiot, holding onto his hand like his life depended on it; he was supposed to meet him for a date. Instead, that very same man discarded the chance at a fulfilling night and made it his mission to help someone else in need. Someone he didn’t know and couldn’t possibly understand. Someone who happened to be Key. Some company and a back rub, offered out of the kindness of his own heart. It spoke volumes about his character. It impressed Kibum, which made him feel twice as guilty about still being wary.

The bathroom door creaked open and Key hastily pushed away, catching himself using the sink. Minho looked shocked, but only for a brief moment. He recovered with a shy smile and nervously scratched the back of his head as Key faced the mirror.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you hostage like that.” Minho joked weakly.

“Don’t be,” Key sighed heavily. “Actually, I should be the one apologizing.”

Key stared at his reflection. What was this? What had he damaged already? If Jonghyun were here, he would hastily tell him _nothing_ and reassure him that it was a clean slate. Had he anticipated this in setting them up? Impossible. Was it just his luck that the man looking so lost behind him might be an actual good guy.

_But you thought he was a good guy too._

Key eyed a stall from the corner of his eye and shuddered. It was true. He was convinced he knew Hyeong-seop. That the charming man he fell for wouldn’t hurt him. He never imagined his kind lover would ever….

It was too soon to make comparisons. He and Minho had just met, and now with what the other had seen, he was sure dating was off the table for him. He should have known that himself before agreeing to this date in the first place. Still, Minho had done more for him than necessary, and he wanted to at least repay him for it. A casual lunch to thank his savior would be harmless, he told himself. That is, if Minho would accept.

Key fixed his brown bangs in the mirror and fixed his clothes, and much to Minho’s relief, finally turned to him and spoke again:

“Sorry for the trouble.” he smiled. “My name is Kim Kibum: your date.”


	2. CH 2

The strangest things can bring people together. Some would call it fate. Others call it coincidence. Minho didn’t know what to call this.

Minho had been seated at the designated table for roughly twenty minutes. He rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck, rubbing the back of it and sighing with relief. He was sitting up straight the whole time, not daring to look anything but presentable for his date. He had resisted the urge to play with the Tupperware laid neatly next to his plate. He wanted so badly to use a spoon to lightly tap his wine glass just to hear it sing. He’d reserve such childish things until after the guy was already impressed with his charismatic charms. He grinned confidently, reasoning that maybe his date was late due to heavy traffic. Either way, waiting a few minutes more wouldn’t kill him.

A pair of men passed by gossiping, laughing even, at the suffering of a man who apparently freaked out in the men’s room. A person who could have possibly been pleading for help. His mood went sour and his smile faded as a familiar rage rose from deep within him. He rose from his seat, brushing off a waiter who tried getting his order.

“But, sir, your reservation…”

Minho ignored him as the rage started to meld with panic. The restaurant was bright and bustling, filled with savory aromas as people enjoyed their meals and chattered away without a care in the world. Minho felt separate from all of it, his vision tunneling as he followed one of the men, watching him sit a few tables away from him. Finely dressed ladies covered their coy smiles with gloved hands, some subtly turning away from their company to scrutinize him as he walked by.

One such woman gazed up at him, the cheeks of her powdered face flushed pink as he approached the table. Her friend didn’t see him stalking behind him, much too busy mocking the sniffling man cowering in the men’s room.

The man’s laughter ceased when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, stiffening immediately when the pressure increased as Minho leaned down.

“Excuse me.” Minho said against his ear. Patient, yet threatening “I’ve been searching for my friend. I hear that you’ve found him.”

Of course, that was a lie.

Minho didn’t know if the man was his date, nor did he care. All he knew was his overwhelming sense of foreboding, spurred on by a memory. A vision of a frail female body huddled in the corner of a bus stop. She was curled into herself, her long black hair fallen thick and wet over her face as she held a cellphone to her ear with a shaky hand. Rain heavily beating down on the thick plastic booth overhead. Thunder rolling in the distance as sparks of lightning flashed across thick gray clouds. Pitiful cries drowned out by the downpour and chaos. His sister, lost and confused, waiting for him as people walked by ignoring her desperation.

_Minho-yah…help me…_

“The nerve!” The man shouted, turning his head to look up at who grabbed him.

Minho’s hand tightened and when their eyes met he saw darkness, flickering back to light as Minho smiled softly, yet somehow, menacingly.

“Just tell me which restroom. Thank you.”

When Minho found Kibum he froze, recalling the fear on his sister’s face as he ran to her. Her small arms closed around his neck as she cried to her brave little brother who didn’t fear the storm. But Kibum shot back at him, raging against his own storm when he came to save him from it.

That man was standing in front of him now, proud and beautiful with his fierce eyes and the corners of his small pink lips turned up in an anxious smile. A man who he could tell was still running from the lightning, but braving it to face him.

He didn’t know him. He didn’t even remember what Jonghyun said about him before he came to the restaurant that night. He just knew that, by fate or coincidence, he’d come face to face with a storm. One that shook him and excited him.

Kibum grimaced, seemingly displeased with Minho’s silence or the shock he didn’t mean to show on his face.

“Okay look,” Kibum huffed impatiently, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. “I don’t usually do this, okay? But just…”

Minho couldn’t help smiling. Kibum seemed far more annoyed with himself than him. He could sympathize, but his fumbling obscured his false bravery. Now he looked cute to him; honest.

“Let me treat you to lunch,” Kibum offered. “I feel gross and my make-up is ruined. I need to go home. If you don’t want to then I get it…but….”

He huffed out a curse, bringing a hand up to rub the side of his neck.

“Thank you.”

Minho could tell that he meant it, and that he was still trying to feign some form of confidence in spite of what happened. He felt foolish, and a bit guilty, for expecting to burst in and be a savior like he was to his noona. Now that his unfortunate date was back to what he assumed was his normal self, he wanted nothing more than to compensate for his presumptuousness and start over.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Minho waved dismissively. “But I will accept your offer for a second date.”

“This was hardly a first,” Kibum retorted.

“Then we try again,” Minho said assuredly. “As friends.”

Kibum searched his face for sincerity. It was something he did without ever meaning to; a paranoid impulse. He told himself he’d at least thank the guy for what he’d done. It seemed a simple act, but it meant a lot to him. It was too soon to feel like he had found a friend, or anything more for that matter, but giving Minho a chance was the least he could do. Much like a nagging parent, he would also never hear the end of it from Jonghyun if he didn’t at least show him proper gratitude after happened.

Lunch would be harmless. Lunch was not a promise. Lunch wouldn’t lead to more bruises.

“Yeah,” Kibum nodded with a bashful smile. “I’d like that.” 


	3. CH 3

Kibum huffed and gazed at his watch. He had arrived at the coffee shop early. It was a quaint place. The bitter scent of coffee mixed with sweeter smells like caramel and chocolate as warm cookies were pulled from ovens and baristas went to work preparing lattes. Sunlight poured in bright and hazy through large open windows, painting the waxed pine tables an even brighter bronze. A couple stood together with their fingers entwined and giggling as they waited at the register for their orders.

Kibum pulled his cellphone from his bag, crossing his legs as he slid his finger across the furry faces of his baby poodles. He tapped the Instagram icon, busying himself with viewing the latest activity along his feed, tapping a heart when warranted. Best to not let Minho see he’d been waiting so anxiously.

When Minho finally arrived, he properly introduced himself. He didn’t press Kibum into explaining what happened to him. He worried over it, wanting to do his best to avoid triggering an episode. He asked once only, and Kibum assured him that it would never happen again.

“I’m not as fragile as I seem.”

“You don’t seem fragile in the least bit to me.”

Key smirked and swiped his bangs across his forehead. He then rested his chin in his palm and wagged a finger at Minho.

“And don’t you _ever_ forget it.”

Kibum’s words seemed like a warning, but at the same time a welcome invitation for Minho to start over again from scratch. Minho chuckled, putting his hands up defensively.

“Oh, I won’t. I promise.” He placed his right hand on his heart for emphasis. “Scout’s honor.”

Key chortled, glancing sideways with a pleasant smile on his face.

“Whatever.”

Minho resigned himself to leaving it alone. They had just met, after all. He wanted to get to know Kibum better, and he wanted Kibum to feel comfortable doing the same. There was something to be admired about a person who, in spite of the unbearable pain, could smile in the face of others, as if their wounds were mere bug bites. Fragile was the last word he’d use to describe Kim Kibum. No. He was radiant and everything opposite of fragile.

After the initial awkwardness passed and the bathroom incident was set aside, bits of Kim Kibum sprouted out like spring flowers from the ground after a bitter winter. Minho listened and observed as Key relaxed and the many facets of his personality started to bud and bloom. He lit up, admiring the colors. The hand gestures he made when he talked, as if those delicate fingers could tell his tales. The white of his teeth and sheen of lip gloss on his small pink lips when he cracked a smile or laughed. Minho was enamored, and knew he wanted to learn so much more.

Kibum was relieved that the pressure was off and he could enjoy a simple outing with Minho. Just two people getting acquainted over warm drinks and sweets at a quiet shop near the Han River; what their first date probably should have been. He still felt indebted to Minho. Minho swore it was not a big deal. He claimed the opposite, but once the two started talking about other things it was soon forgotten.

“God. You are _so_ annoying,” Key jeered, playfully slapping Minho’s arm. Minho choked a bit on his brownie, bringing a fist to his mouth as crumbs flew out. He gagged and laughed as he placed his food in its dish and took a sip of his cappuccino to clear out the rest.

“Jeez. Second date and you’re trying to kill me,” Minho accused jokingly as he put his drink down and grinned at Key. “Guess that means I’m doing my job right.”

Key snickered and rolled his eyes. He could tell already that he was going to have his hands full with someone as dorky and adamant as Minho. Noon slowly turned into evening, and the burning rays of sunset became tiny orange sparks over the surface of the river, and their first hour of awkward greetings transformed into hours of laughter and shared drinks at _Neon._ Key thought that, maybe in this case, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

…

“Kibummie,” Minho chirped with his face cupped in his hands, propped up by his elbows across the table from him. “Are you still mad?”

“Hm?” Key asked with a raised brow.  

Meeting Minho for lunch or a quick coffee had become a comfortable norm. Just as routine as late nights spent at _Neon,_ sitting alone at a candlelit table, relaxing into the soothing sound of Jonghyun’s voice reverberating through the bar with alcohol warming his body. 

They had been walking along the river for much longer than Key desired earlier that afternoon. He wasn’t one for exercise, not even just a lengthy stroll. Minho’s attention shifted from their conversation to gape amused at someone doing tricks farther down the pavement. Much to Key’s displeasure, Minho decided to ditch him to chase them down because _omg that’s so awesome I used to skateboard too and I need his number I’ll be right back_. Key was more than a little bit annoyed.

Key stopped walking and just waited there with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot. Fifteen minutes drifted by before Minho came jogging back, a little winded but smiling widely waving his cellphone in one hand. That meant fifteen minutes of the sun beating down on his skin. Key had broken out into a sweat and knew some of his makeup was ruined.

“Kibum-ah!” Minho called out breathlessly.

Key huffed and turned about, adjusting his bag on his shoulder as he walked away. Minho ran up beside him, slowing his pace to match Kibum’s.

“That guy, he was so cool. He like, does BMX biking, too. I lost track of time talking to him. Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. I know when I’m not important.”

Of course, he was being over-dramatic. The pitiful expression on Minho’s face eased his bit of suffering. Plus, he’d come to learn that Minho’s guilt always came with bonuses.

“I’m sorry, Kibum-ah. How about I buy you dinner later?” Minho suggested desperately. He sped up so he could stop in front of him and pouted for emphasis. “Please?”

Key crossed his arms across his chest and bit his lip.

“Well…” Key thought aloud, his tone lighter and a sly grin on his face. “There _is_ this Italian place I wanted to try.”

That’s how they ended up at the little bistro across town, with its red and white checkered tables scattered about and some lined outside. They were seated beneath an umbrella with an antique lantern lighting their table as night fell upon the city. Key had his phone in hand, but he wasn’t ignoring Minho. He was taking a pic of their food, picking his caption wisely:

_Dinner with Ba-_

_Dinner with a friend. Lasagna and red wine. My favorite :3_

Key was just recovering from his almost slip up with that caption when Minho called his name. He glanced up and his mouth hung open absent-mindedly. The darkness of night closed around the park across the street, with very few lamps lit throughout it. Their table lamp brightened Minho’s face and made him glow brighter in comparison, softening his already warm expression. He looked so lovingly at Kibum. So painfully lovingly.

Key glanced back down at his phone quickly when he felt his cheeks burning. He finalized his post and tucked the device back in his bag before staring back up at Minho with a much less flustered expression. It was then that Kibum realized he never answered Minho’s question.

“I’m not mad anymore; much,” Kibum teased, warding off his momentary shyness. “So, what’s up?”

“Let’s watch a movie together,” Minho suggested, his longing stare never breaking.

“Are there any showings right now?” Kibum inquired aloud, more to himself than Minho. “I don’t think there’s anything I wanted to see…” 

He froze when he felt Minho’s warm hand rest upon his. He gaped at it, then back up to Minho. His smile shifted from angelic to mischievous. Kibum shivered when he spoke again, his voice a lot deeper, almost sensual.

“I meant at my place.”

Key snatched his hand away, holding it close to his chest and looking down at the napkin in his lap as his heart thundered in his chest. It had been a month since they met, and it wasn’t the first time Minho made a pass at him. Key always played off rejecting him, but never expressed his disdain for it. Minho would play his flirtation off as a joke and recover quickly, never showing any sort of frustration.

Key’s Instagram fumble said it all: he _liked_ Minho. He really, _really_ , liked Minho. He liked the idea of waking up to a sweet smile and freshly cooked breakfast. He liked the idea of secret kisses in a dark movie theater. He liked the idea of Minho cheering him on from backstage at a fashion show.

Yet, even after weeks of zero red flags, he still was afraid. He was afraid that, once again, he would fall for another Prince Charming who could at any moment turn into the Beast and shatter his fairy tale.

Minho, who would absent-mindedly get whipped cream on his upper lip when drinking his Frappuccino, and kept talking not noticing it there. Minho, who picked him up from the bar on bad nights when he drank too much and Jonghyun couldn’t watch him while performing, and would hurriedly drive over to _Neon_ and drop him off safely at home. 

He could be a beast.

Like a little angel on his shoulder, Kibum could hear an imitation of Jonghyun’s voice in his ear whispering:

_But he’s not._

Kibum cleared his throat, pretending that his mouth was dry, and took a large gulp of his cold water. He felt like he wanted to take a chance on Minho. He wanted to actually put some trust in his friend. So, he fixed his face before looking back up at him and smiled.

“How about tomorrow night instead, at my place?”  

Minho looked elated. Like a kid, he could never hide his excitement. Key never made him any promises, and maybe Minho didn’t mean to sound flirtatious. Either way, he would find out tomorrow.

Minho smiled up at the sky, as if he was secretly thanking God for making it happen. Key rubbed the side of his neck, feeling slightly guilty about what he was about to say, knowing it would burst his bubble yet needed to be established regardless.

“Tomorrow night,” Key emphasized sternly. “As friends.”

Minho’s smile dropped and he glanced at him. Hurt flashed across his features for a moment, but as expected, Minho recovered with a giddy smile.

“Works for me,” Minho said cheerfully. “We’re friends already, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Key sighed and picked up his fork and knife. “We are.”

“Good,” Minho nodded, also picking up his utensils.

They ate in silence. A few moments later, their conversation miraculously picked up again. They both pretended the awkwardness never happened.

Minho reminded himself not to get his hopes up, and that his friend was guarded. He wanted to know why, but pushed that curiosity to the back of his mind.  Kibum pretended that he didn’t feel his heart clench when he saw the pain in Minho’s eyes. He wanted so badly to explain that it wasn’t him that he feared. Or, maybe it was, but for an entirely different reason. That, he wasn’t even positive of, so he swallowed the knot in his throat.

At the end of their dinner they parted ways pleasantly, both determined in their minds to confront what they each felt when the time felt right: whenever that was.


	4. CH 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The song reference within this chapter is Jonghyun’s “Fortune Cookie”. Can be heard/watched at the following link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9CjXKisv-s

It’s never really intentional when one falls in love:

Minho meant to stick to his convictions and just be the friend that Kibum really seemed to need. Even when he decided to go on that fateful blind date, it was purely out of curiosity and a bit of boredom. Have a good dinner; probably. Get laid; maybe. But love was never on his agenda.

Kibum had the power to make his foundation crumble with just a smile. Sometimes they would laugh together over trivial things or their own half-witted jokes. But in his hysteria, Key’s hand would land on Minho’s shoulder, and that gentle touch made Minho’s entire body tense. Other times, their eyes would accidentally meet, and they would fall into an absent silence where the lines of their friendship would dissolve.

Then Kibum would turn away and feign ignorance. 

Minho had accepted things as they were for as long as his heart could endure. But as the lax days spent with Kibum turned into weeks, verging on a month, those feelings started to become a burden.

A burden that became twice as heavy as he pulled into the parking garage of Kibum’s building and Jonghyun’s words hung in the air.

…

“Minho-yah.”

The greeting was paired with a brilliant smile as his old college dormmate joined him at the bar. Jonghyun had weaseled his way out of a group of women who apparently felt his song in the deepest parts of their _souls._ The song was of a neo-soul variety, something about a fortune cookie. Silly as it seemed, his sensual delivery made even Minho feel the urge to _show_ a thing or two himself. Just as the song suggested, perhaps he could get _Key_ to open up and do the same in return tonight.

“Hot date?” jeered Jonghyun, hopping onto the stool beside him.

Minho chuckled at that, and snorted when he caught the glare he received in response

“How’d you guess?” scoffed Minho.

“Well, that’s easy,” he replied nonchalantly. “It’s your scent. That’s a mighty fine cologne you’re bathed in.”

“Ah, I forgot how sensitive your canine nose is.”  

Jonghyun rolled his eyes but chortled at the joke right along with him. He did have a reputation for his attraction to strong smells. He was prone to spending hours in body care aisles just to sniff lotions. He made his own homemade scented candles, and he had a weakness for incense. Back in their college days, it was something that drove Minho up a wall.

Minho was second to settle into their dorm, but Jonghyun had already made himself at home, filling the space with a heavy lavender miasma. Minho practically fainted, but sweet Jonghyun rushed to him and sobbed over him like a worried mother. After that, he clung to him constantly, which started off as guilt and quickly turned into habit. The rest was history. 

Jonghyun hailed the bartender and requested shots of rum. The young man approached them a moment later with two tiny glasses and a large bottle of Captain Morgan. He filled the two and Minho immediately downed his.

“Leave it,” Minho insisted when the bartender went to take it away.

He hesitated, glancing at Jonghyun for approval. When the singer nodded, he bowed and left to serve a customer at the far end of the bar.

“ _That_ nervous?” Jonghyun asked, a bit more concerned when he knocked back two more shots. Minho hissed at the burn and did another before answering.

“Yea, but that’s not it.”

Jonghyun propped his elbow up on the bar-top, resting his chin in his palm. Calmly, he took a shot, then gestured his friend to say more.

“Hyung.”

Minho reached for the bottle and Jonghyun dragged it closer to himself.

“I just did the last song for tonight’s setlist. This is for _me_ ,” he claimed patting his chest for emphasis.

He poured another shot and Minho whined when he rejected his glass.

“Now, I assume this date is with Kibum. Getting wasted before you get there is no good, plus it’s not like you. What’s wrong, Minho-yah?”  

Jonghyun could read him like a book, which, according to him and his big sister, wasn’t very hard to do. Minho released a heavy sigh and clasped his hands together on the bar-top. He looked at Jonghyun with imploring eyes, and Jonghyun knew it meant whatever was bothering him was serious, and since it pertained to Kibum, he could guess exactly what it was.

“Hyung, why does Kibum hate me?”

Jonghyun stared at him with a mixed expression, half surprised and half confused. Then he huffed and shook his head, waving him off.

“I’m positive that’s not it,” he replied, pouring himself a shot.

“What makes you so certain?” Minho panicked. “Things didn’t exactly work out with you, either.”

“Because I’m not what he needs,” Jonghyun said quietly.

“Huh?”

Minho barely heard him, and just stared at him when he pushed the bottle of rum back in his direction.

“Don’t drink too much,” he advised. “But you’re gonna need a bit for this story.” 

…

When Minho’s car screeched to a stop, he felt dizzy. He was far from a lightweight, and five pathetic shots of rum paired with a blubbering Jonghyun killed his buzz. It’s what he said about Kibum, details of his past he surely wanted to hide, that was rattling his nerves as he stepped out of the vehicle. For someone so experienced with anxiety, he had failed miserably at seeing all the signs.

Was he so clouded with his own feelings that he failed to read Kibum’s?

It should have been obvious that time when Minho had the foolish notion of running towards the sunset together, but when he grabbed Kibum’s wrist, fear flashed in his eyes.

Or maybe even the time Minho simply wanted to surprise Key, so he approached him from behind, and he looked like his soul left his body.

Or he should have noticed how quiet Kibum’s voice became when Minho’s rose because they were arguing over nothing.

Or maybe even the time Minho was bold enough to physically pull him close, but he didn’t see or hear from Key for days after.

It was clear as water, but Minho dyed it with his selfish feelings. What was he doing now? Listening to the hum of the elevator with plastic bags full of junk food in his hands. Hanging out with a friend who he dreamed could be so much more.

Before he could find answers to his questions, he was already at Kibum’s door, and the knob was turning, and that beautiful man was standing before him looking at him strangely.

“Something wrong?” Kibum asked cautiously.

Jonghyun’s words surfaced again, rising high above his thoughts, addressing the man before him:

_He has demons. He doesn’t need an angel; he needs an exorcist._

Minho shook his head, then held the bags up in the air between them.

“It’s nothing,” he lied with a smile. “I just didn’t remember what kind of snacks you liked, so I brought a little of everything.”

“Empty calories and carbs?” Kibum said distastefully. “No, thank you.”

Kibum stepped back, giving Minho a welcoming smile as he created space in the doorway.

“I’m glad you came. Come on in.”

 Minho felt heavy beneath the pressure of knowing the truth, but that smile temporarily lifted the weight off his shoulders. Before he knew it, he was floating across the threshold into Kibum’s apartment, and the door was slamming shut behind him.  

…

When Kibum received the text from Minho saying he was on his way, all he could do for a good five minutes was stare at his phone. He was really doing it, for the first time in over a year, inviting someone to his apartment. When all he needed was a quick fuck, his choice was a hotel room. The size of the suite or extra amenities didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than his apartment, a place where even he didn’t feel safe half the time, let alone with a stranger who could hurt him or be seen by his supposed stalker.

His choice to do this was risky. He didn’t know if Hyeongseop was still watching him even after months of hearing nothing. He didn’t know if his feelings for Minho were love or desperation. And he wasn’t sure if Minho would turn out to be just as bad, if not worse, than his aforementioned psychotic lover. Surely, this was the only way to find out.

He returned home from the convenience store with several ingredients for the dinner he planned to cook. It didn’t take long to prepare. After cooking, he showered and slipped into a comfortable pair of slacks and a baggy T-shirt. Refusing to leave his mind idle, he gave the place a good once over, but there was nothing left to clean.

It had been a half hour since Kibum received the text from Minho, yet he still hadn’t arrived. He failed at busying himself, his anxiety only worsening as time dragged on. The empty apartment smelled of cooked beef and spices, a warm and inviting aroma, yet it was still and silent as the grave. His stomach was in knots, and out of habit he started to check all of the rooms. He found nothing amiss, but still wished he would have kept his pups at home, just to have some other company aside from his own mind as he waited for Minho.

His heart stuttered at the sound of his buzzer and he didn’t waste a second answering the door. Minho stood there, looking half aware of his surroundings, like his mind was fixed on something else. Key started contemplating whether this was a mistake after all, but decided to speak to disrupt his own thoughts.

When he asked, Minho told him that nothing was wrong.

He suspected otherwise.

Key didn’t know if the night would yield answers to his questions, but it would be impossible to find out if things were disrupted at the door. So, he warmly welcomed Minho inside without pressing the issue. He told Minho he was happy he came, because in spite of all of his anxious musings, he truly was. Minho seemed pleased to hear it and followed him inside, and he hoped that smile was a sign that he would have nothing to worry about.   


	5. CH 5

Kibum’s apartment smelled like a savory home-cooked meal, reminding Minho of cold winters back home eating warm beef stew with his family. However, as he gazed around the place, it felt quite the opposite.

Nothing else implied that anyone was ever there. No suit jacket slung over a chair after a long day at work. No desk littered with paperwork or bills that needed to be paid. No favorite coffee mug sitting idly on a kitchen counter. Nothing reinforced that warm feeling, making the whole thing seem a bit misplaced.

If he didn’t know any better, Minho probably would have asked about it. Instead, it saddened him to think about how Kibum must actually hate the place, and what it meant that he was here with him. Regardless of any underlying cause, he didn’t want him to regret the invite.

“So, you made dinner?” Minho asked.

“Yeah. Though, I do feel bad that you went through the trouble and bought snacks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Minho smiled and dismissively waved a hand. “Your food probably tastes way better anyway.”

“Well, of course it does,” Kibum boasted, not even bothering to sound humble. “You should be honored that you’re sampling such gourmet level dishes.”

“Well then, thanks for having me, Master Chef.”

Key nodded with his eyes closed, satisfied with the faux praise. It was silly, trivial even, but just being indulged in such a way by Minho calmed his nerves a bit. He even dared to think that maybe, in spite of what his anxiety was telling him, this night could go without a hitch. And maybe, after such a night, he might be able to peacefully sleep in his own bed for once.

After stashing the snacks away for him, Kibum ushered Minho into the living room and showed him how to use his entertainment center. He already had a movie picked out, some silly rom-com that he’d been dying to see but never got the chance to sit down and actually watch.

Minho couldn’t help but scoff at that. It was exactly the kind of movie he’d expect Kibum to pick. It was even more laughable that Kibum was expecting his compliance, knowing full well that he’d watch it in spite of his own preferences.

He really was a fool for the man, and times like this always reminded him of just how much.

Minho settled onto the small two-seater and set up the movie as Kibum warmed and served their meal.  He rested his long arm across the back and eyed the spot beside him. Suddenly, he felt awkward, realizing how intimately close they’d be once Key was ready to join him. Did this make him look like a douche? Was he being too forward?

Before his mind could continue to race, Kibum sat down, setting utensils in front of them on the coffee table. He mindlessly crossed his leg over his thigh and leaned back, his hair tickling Minho’s arm as he leaned back into it.

“Dinner is served,” he smiled confidently. “Dig in whenever you want. I’ll start the movie.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Minho smiled back shyly.

Kibum leaned forward to grab the remote and fell back into the spot again once the FBI warning showed up on screen. Minho didn’t want to move his arm. The idea that he was this comfortable with him right now seemed too unreal.

A trailer for a comedy was playing now, and he glanced over when he felt a slap on his chest. Kibum was laughing, mindlessly touching him in the process as usual. He seemed so carefree, as if it was any other day and they were having lunch. Minho realized he was being far too conscious. So, he took a deep breath and lifted his arm, Kibum remaining unaffected as he grabbed a dish and started fixing his meal.

Dinner was as delicious as it smelled, seasoned to perfection. Key felt twice as satisfied with himself when he heard Minho hum at the flavor. He placed a thick piece of beef into his lettuce and wrapped it gently, taking a nice big bite. Now he was humming, too. The beef was juicier, lettuce crunchier.

Something was making him enjoy the meal more than usual. Was it because he wasn’t eating it alone for a change? Or was it because Minho was the one eating with him?

Minho coughed roughly and hurriedly tapped his shoulder, pointing to a glass of water once he had his attention. Key quickly passed it to him and watched him gulp it down, gasping with relief once his food successfully went down his throat. 

“Eat slower and maybe you won’t choke.”

“Couldn’t help it,” Minho replied simply, setting the glass down before shoving another piece of meat into his mouth. “’S good.”

“Thanks,” Kibum giggled. “Nice to know that my food is worth risking your life over.”

Minho nodded with a mouth being filled with food once again. Key turned back to the movie and rested his chin in his palm, smiling to himself.

It was definitely the company.      

…

A powerful ballad played in the background as the lead female ran into her lover’s arms. He dropped his luggage to embrace her and kissed her passionately, not paying any mind to the stares as people rushed in and out of the airport terminal behind them. It was the climax of the movie, a typical dramatic scene that’s found in any drama or film of the romance genre.

Minho really wished it was an action movie, and instead of a kiss there was some detective finally shooting the criminal he’d been chasing all his life. But Key was happily sighing while leaning against his side, and that made it very tolerable.

“I really love stuff like this,” Kibum confessed suddenly.

Minho peered down at him.

“Drama?” he asked cluelessly.

“No,” he denied with a head shake. “Simple romance.”

“Isn’t it all simple?” Minho asked mindlessly.

“No,” Kibum huffed, sounding slightly annoyed that time.

Minho watched him sit up and cocked his head to the side, still not grasping the concept.

“Sometimes romance has complications,” Key continued. “Sometimes people have issues, or baggage, or their relationship is more confusing than it should be. Sometimes it’s just…not.”

Minho said nothing. Kibum was clearly referring to his own past, the not-so-simple relationship Minho probably wasn’t supposed to know about. It pained him to hear the hurt in his voice, and to know that he was still inflicting pain upon himself because of it. Minho felt immediately guilty for asking once he understood. He had unintentionally re-opened a wound, one that he wished he could mend just by being close.

“I get it,” Minho sighed.

When Kibum looked his way, he smiled.

“It’s a good thing I’m a simpleton then.”

Key wanted to take him seriously but snorted.

“Who’s actually stupid enough to call themselves a simpleton.”

Minho pointed to himself and smirked.

“If it’s simple you want, you can get it right here.”

“That’s…cute,” Key said with an eye-roll.

Minho scooted close and rested his hand on Kibum’s thigh. Kibum glanced at him, slightly surprised, but didn’t remove his hand. Minho’s smile fell flat and he leaned in.

“Do you want to give it a chance, Kibum-ah?”

Simple. After such a whirlwind, simple is exactly what Key wanted. He wanted simple dates and simple conversations. Simple communication and simple enjoyment. Simple closeness. And right now, he wanted to simply feel Minho. Never mind what this would make them after tonight. Never mind if later he found traces of his previous lover reflected in him. Right now, he just simply needed to…

Kibum brought a hand to Minho’s cheek, slowly sliding it back into his hair as he leaned towards him. They inched closer, their eyes drifting closed as Minho’s hand tightened on Kibum’s thigh. In a funny twist of cheesiness and anticipation, the music in the background of the movie rose when their lips met. They both laughed at that, their lips parting only to get it out of their systems, before meeting once again with only the eagerness driving them.

The kiss was twice as savory as the food had been. Minho could still taste the remnants of beef and veggies on Key’s lips, or perhaps his mind was trying to find ways to describe just how tasty this was to him. Soon their tongues were rolling together, and his hum of satisfaction had less to do with actual taste than it did with the delicious chill that ran through him. Key’s hand gripped the roots of his hair and he was being pulled forward. He complied, hunching so that he was hovering over him as Key fell back onto the couch cushions. He moved his hand from his thigh up under his shirt and their lips separated with a smack.

Kibum moaned quietly, throwing his head back as Minho’s lips left little wet marks all over his neck, trembling as he massaged one of his nipples between his thumb and index fingers. He sat up slightly. Minho backed off to give him room as he eagerly pulled off his shirt. They kissed again and he wrapped his arm around Minho’s shoulders as he lay back down.

God, he needed this. He needed to be touched and loved. He needed Minho to be the one to do it. He needed to feel like the hands touching him weren’t capable of throttling the life out of him. Most of all, he needed to actually believe in the possibility of moving on. Something he’d been struggling to do for longer than he could remember.

“Minho…”

Kibum felt warm all over. His body felt alive, and everywhere that Minho touched and kissed was pushing him over the edge. He could feel himself relax in that warmth, and he wanted to get high off the heat building as Minho’s lips traveled lower on his body.

But just as he started slipping into that haze, his phone went off. Minho froze and looked up at him from his position at the hem of his pants. He glanced down at him and held his face.

“Don’t stop,” he insisted breathlessly.

Minho went back to his skin, kissing his stomach as his fingers curled into the pants, slowly dragging them down.

The ringing stopped. Then a few seconds later started up once again. Kibum groaned angrily. If the call was work related he’d have to handle it. His new fashion line was debuting soon, and missing any critical calls was risky. He smiled down at Minho apologetically.

“Sorry, I need to get that.”

Minho sat up.

“It’s alright. I understand,” he said as he got up from the couch. “Handle your call. I’ll put these dishes in the kitchen for you and uh, we can pick this up again in a bit.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Kibum huffed as he got up and found his bag sitting idly on a chair across the room. He found the bothersome device and looked at the screen.

_Private Number._

Key glanced around, fearing everything, as the phone vibrated and chimed in his hand. He shivered, suddenly aware of how spacious his apartment actually was. The noise stopped, drawing his attention back to his phone. Then, it abruptly started once again, startling him. He swallowed hard before gliding the green icon across the screen and with a shaky hand raised it to his ear.

There was laughter. Loathsome laughter. The familiar voice mocked him because he was amused. Amused that Kibum thought he was gone. Amused that Kibum believed in the possibility of forgetting him, even for one fleeting moment. And though he couldn’t see it, amused that Kibum was shaking as he struggled to say his name.

“Hyeongseop…”

“It’s been a while, Kibummie,” Hyeongseop smiled into the receiver.

Key could hear the cockiness in his voice and it pissed him off to no end. He clenched his fist, still shaking.

“Are you still watching me?”

“No. I just missed you,” he replied nonchalantly. “I’ll be there to see your new line. Your long-awaited return is the buzz of the fashion world after all. I’ll be looking at your models. You’ve got a tendency for sleeping on the job. I’m sure you found someone who flatters the style well. That’ll be your new lover, right? It should be interesting meeting him.”

Kibum opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Minho.

“Want me to put the food in the fridge?” he called from the kitchen.

“He’s already been to your place? Wow, you work fast. I’m almost hurt,” Hyeongseop said dramatically, followed by a cackle. “Well, I have to go. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. Later, Bummie.”

With a click he was gone, leaving Kibum standing speechless with the phone clutched in his hand. Minho strolled out back into the living room and approached him.

“I put everything away. I didn’t want anything to spoil,” he informed. “Hey, is everything- “

“Get out.”

A heavy silence hung over them, like a thick, toxic miasma that threatened to kill them both. Minho suspected the call was far from work related, and that maybe he should have worked harder to distract him from getting it just avoid whatever was happening right now.

When Kibum turned around, Minho could see just how shaken he was, and he could think of only one person who could have caused it. He wanted so badly to hold him. To ease his mind and calm his racing heart and hold him tightly in his arms until he felt like everything was okay. But when he took a step forward, Kibum took a step back and shook his head.

“Go!” he shouted with tears welling in his eyes. “Just get out, please!”

“I won’t hurt you,” Minho implored softly, holding his hands over his heart. “Please just let me comfort you. Everything will be alright. You’ll see.”

“That’s a damn lie!” Key screamed back, the tears now streaming down his face.

His lips quivered and his breathing was erratic. Minho wanted to help him but he was only making things worse.

“Nothing is ever alright, and nothing will ever be,” he cried, still clutching his phone tightly in his hand. “Simple was just too much to ask for…”

When Kibum got that initial push from Jonghyun, he wanted to resist the sad truth that he no longer wanted to be alone. He wanted to keep believing that being alone was for a good reason. But he secretly felt desperate for someone to hold onto. Someone who could erase the marks left on him by Hyeongseop. But they would only drip from his hands and paint any new relationship black. He’d ruin it, ruin them. That, he didn’t want to do, especially not to Minho. He wasn’t worth it.

“Kibummie…”

Minho’s voice was so soothing to him. Soft and warm like a heated cotton duvet on a cold winter night. He wanted to be wrapped in it as it whispered sweet nothings to him.

But that man reminded him that sweet things weren’t meant for him. He only deserved the salty sourness of being debauched and ruined. He was trash and Minho deserved treasure. He deserved the world, and Key would never be able to give it to him. 

Kibum turned away and held the phone to his aching heart, his eyes burning as more tears rushed out.

“Leave, Minho,” he ordered harshly through the tears. “I don’t want to see you again.”

Minho just stood there, staring at his trembling back, wanting to hold it against his chest and bury his face in his neck. Promise him that things would be alright because he would always be there.

Jonghyun was right. Key had demons. The power that his ex-lover still held over him. The doubts that drove him away from hoping for anything good. They were still clawing into his back, the wounds stinging every weary step forward. Minho wanted to purge them from his heart and mind. He wanted to reassure him that he deserved more than misery and show him that his scars could heal.

 Minho felt needed; but Kibum was still too afraid. Right now, his words couldn’t reach him. The last thing he wanted to do was rattle him more. So, as hard as it was to do, he turned and walked away.

Minho quietly gathered his things and left the apartment, leaving Kibum alone, holding himself as he collapsed to the floor, spent and defeated as his sobs died under the sound of the movie as the final credits rolled.


	6. CH 6

A frantic knock at his door roused Jonghyun from his slumber. He had crashed on his sofa after fumbling back to his apartment, the alcohol in his system making his entire body feel like heavy sacks of sand. He slept some of the nausea off, but the drowsiness remained.

The knocking continued as he got up and dragged himself across the room, scratching his head as he pondered who would come to him at such an ungodly hour. It occurred to him that he had a brief conversation with Minho earlier that evening, and perhaps things went sour between him and Kibum. When he shared Key’s past, he’d hoped it would bridge a gap between the two, but the rapping at his door seemed to imply the opposite.

Jonghyun sighed and rubbed his face, ready to confront the repercussions of his gossip. When he opened the door, instead of a sulking Minho, he was met with a staggering, disheveled Kibum.

“Kibum-ah,” he gasped, his eyes blown wide with surprise.

Key gave him a crooked smile and poked him in the chest.

“You gonna stand there staring or are you gonna invite me in?”

Jonghyun mindlessly stepped aside. His nose twitched when he caught the strong stench of booze and sweat as Key hobbled pass him. The smell clung to him like a pungent little goblin latched onto his back, threatening to never let go. Jonghyun suspected he drank quite a lot, but when Kibum plopped down onto his couch, all he could think of was how bothersome it was going to be to get that smell out.

“Yah,” Key slurred loudly, waving a languid hand at him. “Got any wine? You’re really gonna leave me dry over here?”

Jonghyun had seen this before. In fact, it was the same state he was in when they met. At first, when Kibum wandered into _Neon_ , he looked just like any other drunk.

Except he wasn’t.

Kibum had fumbled through the candlelit tables dotting the audience and settled himself in a seat at the front. As Jonghyun prepped his acoustic guitar for the next song, he spotted him from the stage. Sweat glazed over his pale skin making it look like silk under the dim lights. The heated gaze he gave Jonghyun from the intimately close view as he sang was electrifying. Even the smell no longer bothered him once he was a foot away from embracing the enticing man.

Jonghyun was an ember and Key was the gas that sparked an inferno within him the moment they touched. Wild, uninhibited and ferocious. From that moment, they burned through endless nights fucking and partying, to the point where one week seared into the next month without either realizing it.

But when Jonghyun finally simmered down, and Kibum ran out of fuel, the scars were revealed. When Key opened up about his past, Jonghyun realized just how much he enabled his escapism. He had carried him away into nights of alcohol, sex and denial that buried him deeper beneath the weight of things he failed to confront.

He was allowing him to believe none existed.

That was the cut-off point.

Jonghyun stopped being his lover and started being his friend, cautioning him when he was drinking too much and advising him not to throw himself into any random stranger’s bed. Key fought against their new pace at first, resisting any notion of him having an actual problem. Then, he started to become too weary to fight it. His fears overwhelmed him and he found that Jonghyun was the only one who would willingly help him carry the burden.

But now there was also Minho, a man who undoubtedly loved him and wished to do the same. A man who, from the looks of things, Kibum pushed away 

Right now, Kibum wasn’t just some drunk beauty who stumbled into his bar: He was someone whose suffering he knew too well, and whose patterns of destruction were all too familiar. He was his friend, who came stumbling into his flat desperately seeking help, whether he realized it or not.

Jonghyun shut his door and turned to Key with his arms folded.

“No,” Jonghyun answered to his earlier question. “I’m not going to get you wine or anything alcoholic. Seems like you’ve had enough already.”

“Ah, really,” Key huffed heavily.

Key rose from the couch and took a step towards Jonghyun. When Jonghyun took one back and hit the door, Kibum advanced on him and boldly pressed a hand onto it beside his head.

“Well,” Key smirked with a wily grin, bringing his free hand up to Jonghyun’s jawline, petting gently with his fingertips in a way he knew could have him reeling. “You can get me wet in other ways. Ne, Jonghyunnie?”

Jonghyun involuntarily shuddered and bit his lip to suppress a whimper. Minho was right to call him a canine. It wasn’t just his sense of smell triggered in an unpleasant way by the odor coming off of Kibum’s body. It was also his weakness for affection in the most dehumanizing sense of the word. Ear scratches, stern commands and oh the gentle petting and names.

Kibum was cruel to use such a tactic. However, in his cruelty, he proved to Jonghyun just how desperate he was feeling.

It took everything in him to put his hands on Key’s chest and shove him away. Key fumbled a bit before standing upright, clearly offended by the rejection.

Jonghyun exhaled heavily in an attempt to quell the warmth that started to bud within him by the use of his kink. He was tired enough to be caught off guard, but not enough to betray his friend.

Either one of them.

“Stop fucking around,” Jonghyun scolded impatiently. “Just tell me what happened.”

Key was silent for what felt like an entirely and his face yielded nothing readable. It made Jonghyun anxious. The uncertainty and silence, the answer-less questions bubbling in his brain.

Key stood there shocked, suddenly aware of his surroundings. The realization hit him like a truck, and he had to peer around slowly just to confirm it.

He remembered Minho. His smile. His lame jokes. His touch. Then he remembered the call, and his heart plummeting down from the clouds, crashing back to his own cruel reality. Then, Minho…

Jonghyun watched the changes in his face. The bewildered blinking as he glanced around the apartment. A shaky gasp as he slowly clasped his head in his hands. Then, the regretful agonizing gaze of a guilty man as he stared at Jonghyun.

“Jjong, I…”

Kibum dropped to his knees, his head still in his hands, shaking. Jonghyun rushed over and kneeled in front of him, his hands carefully holding Key’s wrists, bringing them down.

“Don’t,” Jonghyun said softly.

Tears welled in Kibum’s eyes and tumbled down his cheeks, rolled past his quivering lips. Some dripped from his chin while others slipped into his mouth.  

“He won’t let me go,” he cried desperately. “No matter what I do. No matter how hard I try. He just won’t go away.”

Jonghyun pulled him into his chest, cradling his and shushing him as he gently rubbed his back. Kibum helplessly cried against him, sinking into his warmth, calming his racing heart.

“Minho, he...” Kibum stuttered.

“He’s a good man, Kibum-ah,” Jonghyun consoled. “He’ll be patient. I know it. He’ll wait.”

Key uncurled himself, leaning back to stare at him. His breath still reeked. Triggering. Jonghyun pushed the feeling of disgust away and gave Kibum a reassuring look.

“Jonghyun,” Kibum said as the tears slowed, “He said he was going to come to the show. I don’t know what to do. And I kicked Minho out. I told him I didn’t want to see him again.”

Jonghyun looked serious for a moment, but it passed when he smirked.

“Minho isn’t that compliant. He’ll be back,” Jonghyun deadpanned.

Jonghyun took Kibum’s hand in his and stroked the back gently with his thumb.

“But I think it’s time you took Hyeongseop’s power away,” he implored. “He can’t keep doing this to you. You can be happy. You can heal. He doesn’t have the power to stop that. Only you do.”

Key felt tired and nauseated. Possible residual effects of cleaning out the last of his liquor supply, but least likely. He was fed up, weary, tired of fighting for the basic right to sleep in his own bed without feeling haunted. He was tired of the anxiety, which would surely remain. But if there was a chance that he could have more lax moments like he did with Minho earlier that night, then he wanted to fight it.

And now he had people who could help him win the battle.

Now, more than ever, he missed Minho.

He missed warm mornings walking along the Han River as Minho ran at every bird he spotted a foot in front of him.

He missed brisk afternoons sitting in their favorite cafe, watching the skies burn orange and bright behind Minho, but paling in comparison to his carefree smile.

“I’m so tired,” Key sighed deeply, succumbing to the daze of overwhelming emotion and drunkenness.

“And you smell,” Jonghyun added, climbing to his feet.

He offered his hands and Key accepted them, relying on his strength but failing because Jonghyun had a limited supply as well. They laughed at their almost drunken fumble and finally, with both their efforts, Key was standing again on wobbly feet.

“Come on. You can use the shower,” Jonghyun offered, walking away. Key followed and he added, “You’re sleeping on the couch though. I don’t trust you anymore.”

Key laughed dryly.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I won’t try anything. The irony of me being the one in the doghouse is already killing me.”

“Yeah, well, you did it to yourself,” Jonghyun fussed.

“Jjong?”

” Yeah?”

Kibum stopped walking and Jonghyun glanced back at him. He was taken aback by what he saw. For the first time in a span of time he can’t recall, he was smiling. Kibum shyly scratched the back of his head.

“Thanks, Jonghyun,” he said sincerely. “Thanks for being a great friend.”

Jonghyun simply smirked and turned back around, continuing down the hall towards the bathroom.

They had a silent understanding. Things would get better, or at least full effort would be put into trying. It was a step in the right direction, perhaps even permanently this time. Kibum held his hand to his heart.

He could only hope that Minho would be willing to take another step beside him as well.

…

Minho stared at the collection of prescription bottles sitting neatly on the coffee table in front of him. He knew what they were for, what they could helped mend, yet they still made him anxious.

His sister, Minjung, sat across from him, holding a handful of the medications in her delicate hand as her husband walked into the room with a cold glass of water. She smiled and took the glass, then in one quick motion chucked them into her mouth, chasing them down her throat with the water.

“Thank you, Seungjun-ah.”  

He put a firm hand on her shoulder and gave her a knowing smile before walking out of the room, leaving the siblings alone.

“I’m glad they’re working,” Minho remarked, trying not to sound sad about it.

Minjung could read him too well. She knew when her so-called big little brother was trying to be an optimist in spite of his own convictions. Minho never liked her taking the meds. He disliked imagining her wondering drowsily around her home, possibly missing a step or dropping a glass. But Minjung disliked the panic even more than the grogginess. She didn’t want an ajar closet door to leave her recoiling in a corner. She didn’t want to be rescued from a bus stop in the middle of thunderstorm.

She didn’t want Minho to save her anymore.

Minjung was a married woman now, with a dependable husband that left her wanting for nothing. She didn’t need her brother to tell her that the world wasn’t as scary as it seemed.

Minjung smirked and drank a bit more water before placing her glass down on a coaster.

“The pills work better than you,” she teased.

Minho rolled his eyes and laid down sideways on the couch, sitting upright on his elbow with his chin in his palm.

“No use arguing with you, sis,” he sighed in defeat.

Minjung chuckled and rested both hands in the cushions on either side of her thighs. Her long chestnut hair covered her arm like a veil as she cocked her head to the side to stare Minho down.

Minho was never too forth-coming with his problems, not to her at least. He wanted to prevent her from worrying any more than she already involuntarily did.

Yet he seemed to take comfort in seeing her face. Their parents worked a lot when they were younger, which left Minjung alone with her fears and Minho with his frightened sister. Now that she didn’t need to cling to him, he found himself doing so instead. If something was wrong, he wouldn’t say. He’d just come by her house and take refuge in her presence, just like he was now.

It took one hapless sigh for her to throw him a glare. He was taken aback by it and sat up.

“Something’s wrong,” she deduced, folding her arms across her chest. “Tell me.”

When her mind wasn’t clouded with anxiety, Minjung’s intuition was sharp as a blade. It cut through Minho’s lax façade, revealing his fragility. He was again reminded that he could never hide a thing from her. Minho wasn’t even sure if he wanted to this time, which is probably how he ended up at her doorstep so early in the morning.

Minho stared at the floor as memories of the night before flashing through his mind and filtering his vision. He saw Kibum’s back quivering, and his own hand extended out to touch him. He grasped nothing and the sight of him grew distant, further and further away by the second.

“Minjung-ah,” Minho started, his voice so small and shaky she thought he could break at any moment.

Endless blue separated them and swelling waves were rolling in, threatening to take him under.

“He’s afraid and I can’t reach him. There’s an ocean between us that I can’t cross.”

Minjung was silent for a moment, then she sighed and leaned back in her seat. When Minho looked up at her she was glancing at the ceiling. She covered her mouth and released a small yawn, before resting her hand in her lap.

“Sorry, Minho-yah. They’re kicking in,” she informed him apologetically. “But from the sound of things, you’re more afraid than he is.”

“What?” Minho questioned, confused.

“You’re afraid,” she restated. “If there’s anything I know, it’s fear.”

Minho watched as she sat up again, her eyes drooping more than they did before.

“You want to protect that person, like you’ve always protected me,” she said with a sad smile. “You want to cross the ocean, but you’re afraid you’ll both drown.”

Minjung suddenly stood up and stretched, her hair falling wildly over her shoulders as she spread her arms like wings. She marched around the table, and then, with as much effort as her tired body could muster, wacked her Minho upside his head.

“Ow!” exclaimed Minho, shielded the back of his head and looking at her as if she lost her mind.

“This isn’t the brother I know,” she scolded. “ _My_ little brother would shout YOLO and take a jet-ski.”

Minho didn’t know whether to be baffled or amazed. In a way, he was both. His fearful sister, whom he had spent most of his early life rescuing had just literally knocked some sense into him.

Minjung was right. He was a stubbornly persistent person, Jonghyun’s words, not his. He didn’t surrender to a challenge, and even when he was at a loss he didn’t easily accept defeat. How many people came into Kibum’s life and walked away from him feeling defeated, leaving him to continue fighting his battle alone?

Minho refused to be one of them.

Minho jumped up and embraced his precious sister. She laughed, patting his back while dismissing him. Her meds were kicking in and she had stuff to do before succumbing to the drowsiness. Minho got the hint and left the house, wishing both her and her husband well before darting out the door.

He had a pep in his step, a smile on his face and a new resolve in his mind. Even if he had to remain a friend. Even if Key was too anxious to accept him at all, Minho was determined to let him know that he was willing to be by his side, fighting for him, fighting with him.

Key would never have to cross that ocean alone again. Even if the waves overwhelm him, and he was dragged down by the pressure; Minho would be there. He would dive in head first, cutting through the water and reaching for his hand, ready to help him back to the surface and breathe once again.


	7. CH 7

Noise rose in Key’s ears like the buzzing of hundreds of bees as they swarmed around their queen. It was pure chaos, but it was _his_ chaos. He was finally home.

Models scurried from rack to mirror, being fitted and adjusted to clothes created by his vision. Interviewers and fashion journalists hovered wherever they were permitted, just to get a glimpse of the magical ruckus of his comeback show and the models most watched by the media. Cameras flashed and cell phones snapped as photographers captured behind the scene footage and models captured themselves for their latest Instagram stories. 

This show was his hive. The models were his glistening worker bees. The clothes he’d spent months planning and creating, his honey.

Yet he could not savor the familiarity of it all. A foreign body lurked somewhere, picking at the honeycomb, ready to corrupt the sweetness just by saying his name.

Hyeongseop was stealthy. In the past, he had hidden behind the fact that being gay was still taboo and at the time of their relationship, he was a top model while Kibum was an emerging fashion designer on the scene. Everything he had done fell under the radar, and no one Kibum pleaded to for help ever believed him. The abuse went unnoticed.

Even as the noise died down, and an electronic rhythm filled the darkness, and lights emanated from the elevated runway before his eyes, Key fidgeted in his seat.

But no matter how much his skin crawled or how many goosebumps formed on his skin, Kibum had made a decision not to let it happen again. He wasn’t helpless, and he wasn’t alone.

This was his time to shine. He wouldn’t let Hyeongseop dim his light.

In spite of his internal dilemma, Kibum was happy with how well the show went. Only minor adjustments were made to the wardrobe and two models were no shows before they had begun. However, the show went smoothly without a single blazer ripping at the seam and two very experienced models worked overtime to fill the slots. He was especially proud to see the rookie model, Lee Taemin, confidently working his clothing up and down the runway like he was born to wear them. It was certainly something to behold.

Kibum, along with Taemin, readily smiled for invasive cameras and press who bombarded them after the show, asking questions about his creative vision and the young model’s successful debut on the catwalk. Time dragged by as he preached to one fashion editor after another about how _Pearls in Plaid_ would be the brand needed to embrace gender fluidity. Taemin expressed his honor as the face of the campaign and how happy he was that his androgynous appeal could be used to bridge the gap between binary and non-binary people across all of Korea.

It’s a known fact that whomever didn’t come to the show for the clothes came for the free alcohol. Models laughed prettily with other fashion elite, socializing and exchanging business information over wine and catered delights. Kibum swerved through them, thanking them for their support and having idle chitchat about his own choice of attire for the event.

The fact that Hyeongseop hadn’t approached him yet put him on edge, and he found himself involuntarily jumping whenever a model or editor tapped him on the shoulder. This particular time he was met with a bouquet of flowers and a familiar pair of frog eyes beaming from behind them.

“You came,” Kibum said breathlessly with a joyful smile etching its way across his face.

Kibum felt like he had taken his first breath of fresh air in years when Minho smiled back. Like he had spent hours drowning, reaching pointlessly towards the surface. Then a hand breached the swirling blue, pulled him up above the water and he gasped into the air again.

“Yea, I got your invite,” Minho grinned, flashing him the elegant little card like a badge of honor.

Kibum took the flowers from him, cradling them against his chest as he tucked his mouth behind it.

“About last time…” he started sadly.

Minho waved a dismissive hand at him. A waiter eased his way through the crowd, and when he came near Minho quickly grabbed two champagne glasses off his tray, offering one to Key.

“All of that can come later,” Minho said with sincerity in his eyes. “Right now, what’s important is your moment and your continued success. Let’s just happily celebrate for now, okay?”

Kibum met his gaze, speechless and grateful in ways he couldn’t explain. He had pushed and pulled Minho, dragging him along the tracks of his own emotional rollercoaster. Yet here he was, smiling that generous and loving smile just for him. Kibum had making up to do. It would be a slow and careful process, but that smile reassured him that he had all the time in the world. 

“Okay,” he agreed, fighting back tears that threatened to form while smiling behind his flowers. “Let me put these away and we’ll have that drink when I get back.”

Minho glanced around for a table and placed the glasses down.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Fine,” Kibum said with an eyeroll, grinning.

The two chatted as Kibum led them back towards the room where his gifts and belongings sat safely. As they talked, it dawned on him that there was something driving his earlier anxiety. Something that made the moments leading up to this night ones of foreboding instead of excitement. Like a train derailing, all the chaos piled back up in his mind, and in a cruel crash of awareness and reality a tall shadow loomed before him.

“It’s been a while, Kibummie.”

The large bouquet fell helplessly from his arms, roses and tulips snapping at the neck under the weight as the bundle hit the floor. Minho gaped down at the fallen flowers, then at Kibum’s face frozen in fear. He glanced into the room at the man standing in the center, dressed in a sharp white suit with his hair slicked back and a confident grin spread between his large ears.

“You,” Minho snarled with clenched fists. “You’re- “

“I thought it was the pretty boy,” Hyeongseop began, boldly ignoring Minho. “He seemed like he’d be your type. Lanky, naive and feminine - the opposite of me. Yet here you are, with someone similar. I guess you haven’t gotten over me yet then, Bummie.”

Minho stepped forward but surprised when a gentle hand grabbed his wrist. He looked back at Kibum, whose hand was shaking even as he held on. Key released a shaky breath and let go, stepping in front of Minho. Hyeongseop chuckled as he came forward, but was left gasping in surprise when a hard fist slammed into his face.

Key’s fist hung in the air where he struck Hyeongseop as the model fumbled backwards, crashing into the countless bouquets and gifts piled high behind him.

“Bum- “

“Shut up!” shouted Kibum, dropping his hand and taking another step towards Hyeongseop. “You don’t get to come in here and do this. You don’t have the right to walk back into my life after ruining it.”

Minho watched stunned, his eyes fixed to Key, looking on in amazement as he marched towards his ex with quivering fists. Key huffed heavily and shakily as he advanced, this time almost hovering over the model as he gaped up at him.

“You think you made me,” Kibum proclaimed with rage in his voice. “But you’re here _because_ of me. Nightmares fade and become nothing. _You’ll_ become nothing” 

Minho glanced back when a pair of footsteps approached the room, meeting eyes with the blue-haired model he’d seen earlier in the show. The man stopped mid-step reading the heavy atmosphere and feeling guilty for intruding.

“Taemin-ah,” Kibum called to him.

“Y-yes?” he stuttered back fearfully.

“Go get security.”

Taemin immediately turned and darted down the hallway.

“Minho.”

Minho turned back to Kibum.

“Let’s go. We’re done here.”

“No!” Hyeongseop yelled furiously, slowly getting off the floor. “You can’t discard me like this. I mean everything to you!”

Kibum looked down at him, relaxing his fists when he realized that he was no longer shaking. He had spent months being tormented over the things that Hyeongseop did to him. He’d convinced himself that he deserved all the pain that was inflicted upon him for one crazy reason or another. He stopped living his life, convinced that the delirious man in front of him was worth his tears.

Key felt Minho take his hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tightly. He glanced at him and thought about the time they’d spent together. How nights of binge drinking turned into days filled with laughter and stupid jokes. No matter how afraid he felt about the world, he always felt safe with Minho by his side. In spite of all his suffering, he could now see the light at the end of the tunnel and feel that warmth radiating from Minho’s smile, pulsing through his big soft hands.

Security rushed in and looked to Key for answers.

“What’s going on here?” the first officer questioned.

When the second turned to Minho, he quickly let go of Key’s hand and retrieved his invitation from his pocket, showing it to them both.

“I have an invite,” he proclaimed proudly.

Key pointed down at Hyeongseop.

“That man tried attacking me when I came to get my things.”

“Do you know him?” the guard pressed further.

Kibum glanced down at Hyeongseop one last time. It was a look of pity for the man that had tormented him for months and had nothing but that old power to cling to. A power that no longer existed. He turned away, standing closer to Minho.

“No,” he answered sternly. “I don’t know that man.”

That left Hyeongseop delirious, shouting profanities and proclamations of revenge and whatever he could as the two officers took him into custody. They would detain and report him but needed statements from Minho, Key, and Taemin who had come into the room moments later clueless about what happened but happy that his mentor was alright. The incident caused a stir and Key’s “scandalous” show became the talk of the town. However, gossip came and went easily in the fashion world, so the rumors died down just a month after the incident.

…

The sun burned high in the sky, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cool autumn breeze. Kibum sat alone on the stone steps, his scarf billowing in the wind as he watched a ship drift down the Han River.

A sudden heat touched his cheek and he smiled, reaching up to grab the cup with his Americano in it. Minho sat down beside him, bumping his shoulder lightly making him sway as he took a careful sip of caffeine.

“At least pretend to be surprised,” Minho pouted, disappointed that his appearance made little to no impact on his boyfriend.

“This kid,” Kibum huffed, grinning against his cup, knowing how his pretend apathy made Minho fuss.

“I miss when you were jumpy,” Minho sneered, receiving a light punch in his chest as a response. “It’s getting cold out, but you waited for me.”

“Well, how else are we going to get into your apartment without you?”

Minho chuckled slyly, making Kibum glance his way. This time he was actually surprised when Minho reached both arms past his hands, almost making him spill his coffee as he slipped a chain over his head. Key blinked and looked down. There was a brass key dangling at the end of the chain. He gaped back up at Minho, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find something to say.

“That’s how,” Minho said with a smile, lightly touching the key, gazing into his eyes with absolute adoration. “Kibum-ah, we’ve only been together for a year now but I love you more than I can ever express. What’s mine is yours. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yes,” Key replied without hesitation.

Minho never asked him a question, but he didn’t have to. He had spent over a year on him, helping him heal his wounds. He stitched them, stopped the bleeding, became a sedative. He was his healer. His heart. His remedy.

For Minho, _with_ Minho, he had nothing to fear and welcomed everything his heart could contain.

Minho smiled that simple giddy boyish smile that Kibum had come to cherish the more he saw it. Kibum sat his coffee down and leaned towards him, smiling and closing his eyes as Minho cradled his face in his hands.

There were promises in his kiss. Of comforting embraces when the nightmares haunted him at night. Of soft caresses when that old pain gripped his heart. Of loving smiles and reassuring words when he thought his happiness was all a dream.

He didn’t have to hurt anymore. He didn’t have to suffer alone. The deep wounds were all healing, leaving nothing but fading scars in their wake.

Kibum no longer feared his scars, he cherished them.

**END**


End file.
